


Love Is Greed

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Harry's affair runs the risk of being exposed thanks to a, one, Charles Augustus Milverton</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Greed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=118491679#t118491679) and the Sherlock Kink Meme.

Although he would never admit to anything so droll, Mycroft Holmes was frantically puttering around his kitchen. It wasn’t the sort of thing that most would do when home from a fourteen hour flight, but after two weeks out of the country on business he didn’t want takeaway or to go to some restaurant. The only things he wanted were those which he couldn’t readily receive from room service or a number of five star places he was well tired of.

And, even though he was fairly certain he was ruining it due to jetlag, Mycroft was committed to finishing the simple spaghetti dish. Covering his mouth as he yawned, he stared blearily into the pot of homemade sauce, only returning to his senses when he heard the front door open. Turning off the stove, he walked into the living with a smile.

Another thing that even the best room service in the world couldn’t give him was the man standing at the door, staring at his keys as though they were the most complicated problem he’d ever come across.

“Harry. You’re later than expected. Any particular reason?” He asked, rather amused that the man was merely on time rather than early. It was one of the few eccentricities they shared and something Mycroft found most amusing in the man, as dates often boiled down to who could be earliest.

But something about Harry made the smile fade from Mycroft’s face. The equerry still hadn’t removed his coat and his keys were still clutched in his hand, a look of pain flashing across his face before seemed to remember himself. Running his hand over his mouth, Harry shook his head and leaned back against the door.

“Uh... Well, I don’t how to put this exactly.”

“Honestly?” Mycroft offered, not sure what it was that had Harry so bothered.

Nodding, Harry ran his tongue along his lips, as though that could get them to work together to form the right words. Furrowing his brows, he stared at Mycroft, who stood in front of him patiently. “I had a lunch with a man by the name of Milverton. Charles Augustus Milverton and uh... It would appear as though he’s another Ms. Adler.”

“Don’t tell me there’s another one in that family who can’t—“

“No,” Harry said quickly. “He’s threatening me. Threatening to expose our relationship, rather. I suppose I was late because I was having second thoughts about coming over.”

Standing up a bit straighter, Mycroft let his emotionless facade fall into place. “What do you mean expose our relationship? There’s nothing he can expose.”

If nothing else, Mycroft was perfectly careful when it came to the matter of his relationship with Harry. There was no show of public affection for each other, given the fact that they were both grown men. Certainly no one could out them because they both kept the entire matter under lock and key since Mycroft knew he had enemies who might try to harm Harry and Harry had a wife and children to think of.

“So one would think, but he has photos,” Harry said, pulling out a small envelope from the inside pocket of his coat. Handing them to Mycroft, he laughed nervously. “Multiple copies of us together. Rather compromising, actually.”

Ripping open the envelope, Mycroft pulled out the photos, fury growing with each one he looked at. How Milverton to these photos, he didn’t know, but there was no denying the fact that they were real. All were time stamped, the back of them listing locations while his own mind filled in the details that confirmed the factualness of them. Brushing his thumb along a photo of himself and Harry kissing on his front porch at a positively indecent hour the night before he had left town, Mycroft looked up at the real man before him.

“Harry...”

“I can’t give him what he’s asking,” Harry laughed humourlessly. He looked as though he was barely holding together calm facade through sheer will. “It’s rather ridiculous and I won’t let myself be blackmailed.”

An understandable position, since Mycroft couldn’t imagine the strong man he was seeing giving in without a fight. At the very least, Mycroft would never let him since people like Milverton were human equivalent of vultures. Still, to see Harry look so unnerved was enough to make Mycroft want to do anything he could to make the man happy once again.

“You could always... Well, we could always end this,” he offered, unsure of if that was the statement that Harry was looking for.

“I should think I’d rather lose my wife, family and job before that.”

“It’s reasonable,” he pointed out, despite the relief he felt.

“I don’t want reasonable. I want you and I want this to go away. So figure out a solution that will allow me that,” Harry snapped.

Recoiling slightly at the unexpected outburst, Mycroft watched as Harry ran his hand through his hair and sunk to the ground. Kneeling next to him, he took the man’s keys and placed them on the side table then helped him out of his coat. Holding him, Mycroft rested his cheek against Harry’s head.

The man felt like a rag doll in his arms, the steady in and out of his breath the only thing that confirmed he was alive despite the useless limbs and the way he stared blankly at the floor. It was a side of Harry that Mycroft had never really cared to see because he wasn’t his Harry.

Rubbing the man’s side comfortingly, Mycroft kissed the top of his head. “We are going to have dinner. Afterwards we will watch the news and viciously mock them and then we will go to bed as usual. In the morning, we’ll begin to work this out,” he said determinedly. He was still too useless to do anything at the moment given that the play of emotions they were still going through didn’t make him feel any less tired. But in the morning, he was certain he’d be able to handle anything that happened to come his way.

“Sounds wonderful,” Harry said, though it was clear that he was only saying what he thought was right as he slowly rose to his feet. “And My?”

“Yes?” Mycroft asked, standing as well.

“I love you. It’s sentimental and foolish to say that now, but—“

“I love you too and I’m not letting anyone ruin this, Harry.”

Mustering a smile, Harry seemed to relax slightly. He still looked as though the entire world was bearing down on him, but that one smile, no matter how strained, was more than enough to ease some of Mycroft’s worries.

“I trust you.”

“Good,” Mycroft said proudly as he led the man to the kitchen.

It was one thing to be trusted with a number of important political matters over the years, but that was simply a job that many played a part in. He knew what kind of man Harry was and blindly trusting another wasn’t one of the man’s virtues. Harry had the sort of calm reserve one would expect from someone of his sort and to know that, even without a plan, he was trusted made Mycroft feel honoured as he committed himself to solving this minor problem by the next night.

* * *

Even if he would never say it aloud, Mycroft felt that the issue that had presented itself in his and Harry’s lives was one that would be best handled Sherlock. After all, it wasn’t as though he or Harry could take care of it themselves unless they saw fit to pay the man off and they were both agreed on the fact that paying was not an option.

Of course, as he led Harry into 221B to find Sherlock plucking away at his violin as though he’d been expecting them, Mycroft started to wonder if he should’ve just rearranged his day in order to handle the matter himself. Anything that would’ve spared him the quizzical look in Sherlock’s eyes, the most obvious sign that his brother was trying to deconstruct his reason for coming by before Mycroft could say anything.

Lifting his chin, brows still furrowed, Sherlock watched a Harry took a seat in the chair across from him. A simple fact made more interesting by Mycroft’s choice to stand near the chair rather than sit down on the sofa, not that Mycroft ever chose to sit on the sofa. “What are you doing here? Another case?”

“Of sorts. You remember Harry,” he said, gesturing to the nervous looking equerry.

Sherlock raised his brows in acknowledgement. “Yes. From that... scandal.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Holmes,” Harry said, clearly feeling no less awkward about his need for the detective’s assistance.

“Hmm. What is it you want? Another member of the Royal family find themselves all tied up in a predicament?”

“No. This is of... a similar matter, though.” Straightening his tie nervously, Harry visibly struggled with the appropriate way to phrase his problem. It was nothing that the detective wasn’t use to, although he refrained from rushing the person along like he usually did when they fell silent for too long, only because of Mycroft’s critical gaze on him. Finally finding the right words, Harry cleared his throat and said, “It would appear as though I am being blackmailed for an affair.”

“Is there proof?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well then, I would suggest the same advice as before: pay up,” Sherlock said, emphasizing the last part.

Another wealthy citizen of London not wanting to be extorted was hardly his problem. If they were really so concerned with their image, it wasn’t likely that they would be doing things that would lead to the extortion in the first place. They merely hated getting caught and blackmailed for their failings in life and especially despised being parted with their money.

Pressing a fist to his mouth, Harry shook his head, eyes focused o a particular spot on the floor. “Mr. Milverton’s demands are... rather excessive.”

Perking up visibly, Sherlock sat up a bit straighter in his chair, violin hastily placed at his side on the floor. “Charles Augustus Milverton? Well, they do tend toward that way with him,” Sherlock muttered to himself.

“I was hoping you could... make this go away without my having to pay him,” Harry said, hope apparent in his eyes.

But Sherlock wasted no time in dashing it away without a second thought.

“No. You’re job is of no importance to me and when it can be avoided, I do try to steer clear of that vicious snake Milverton. He’s worse than Anderson.”

“There are things more important than his career at stake, Sherlock,” Mycroft said firmly, a pointed look that meant Sherlock ought to take the matter more seriously levelled at his little brother.

Looking at Mycroft, Sherlock merely scoffed. “I would think that he would’ve been wise enough to give up his affair by now.”

“Sherlock,” he said, anger starting to seep into his voice.

The look of dawning realization in Sherlock’s eyes after taken in the way Harry refused to look up and Mycroft’s odd concern with this case, why it was that the meeting was taking place on Baker Street rather than some plush office or even Buckingham, was quickly followed by a look of disappointment.

“How people think I’m the dramatic one when I’ve never caused a war nor had affairs of this level is beyond me.”

“Will you help?” Mycroft asked, sticking to the crux of the matter.

“I apparently have little choice in the matter.”

“Thank you.”

“But no relationship could be worth this. Especially not one with a married man,” Sherlock told his brother, since he knew more about what lay ahead than either of them would ever want to.

It was at that that Harry sat up a bit straighter, firm set of his jaw as he glared at Sherlock showing that there was still some passion in the nervous equerry when saw fit to show it. “I’ve been with your brother for years, Mr. Holmes. I’d sooner give up my job than him, but—“

“But trust Mycroft to get his cake and eat it too. Usually by himself.”

“If that is all. I trust you to handle this discreetly?” Mycroft asked, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Yes, yes. Save your usual speech for those who didn’t have the misfortune of being raised with you.”

With that, Sherlock picked up his violin and began to pluck at it again, signifying that their presence was no longer necessary. Leading Harry on, Mycroft hoped that Sherlock did, in fact, take the case seriously and didn’t simply put it off until the last minute. He wanted Milverton out of his hair as soon as possible so that everything could go back to how it was meant to be.

* * *

“Perhaps I should simply tell her,” Harry said as he collapsed into the seat next to Mycroft.

The entire fiasco had begun to take its toll on him since they sought Sherlock’s help four days ago. He was drinking about a glass and a half more than average and he seemed exhausted at all hours of the day. Nothing that seemed particularly grand except for those moments of the day when Harry had that look on his face that meant he was trying to decide between leaving his wife or end the affair; a look which Mycroft had long since thought they were past. In fact, he had been certain of it before Milverton came about.

Placing down his own glass rather than finish it off, Mycroft grabbed the glass from Harry’s hand and placed it next to his own, not wanting it within the man’s reach anymore. “Certainly,” he agreed easily. Leaning back against the sofa, he waved his hand vaguely. “Odette, darling, you remember Mycroft Holmes? Lovely gentleman who holds that minor position we invite over from time to time? Well, for the better part of the past decade I’ve been making the most dreadful habit of sleeping with him.”

“Sleeping with you is hardly dreadful,” Harry said, that firm tone of voice in contrast with the way he refused to meet Mycroft’s eyes.

“You’re panicking,” he said as he cupped Harry’s cheeks. “Rightfully so, but if Sherlock does this well, you won’t need to worry.”

“Until the next matter of this nature arises.”

“I could always kill Milverton and send out a very clear message to all those involved?” He offered with a playful smile.

Paling visibly, Harry gripped Mycroft’s wrist. “I do wish you were joking when you say things like that.”

“Most would assume I was,” he pointed out casually.

“Most people haven’t been with you for the better part of a decade,” Harry teased.

Although, truer words could scarcely be summoned up in his regard since they both knew that long term relationships had never been his forte. Even within the small, self-contained bubble of the government, Mycroft didn’t bother with any lasting ties before Harry, not that the man was meant to stick around either. The excuses to end things were always there with Mycroft’s work constantly taking him out of the country and Harry’s family constantly there for the man.

“I can’t, for the life of me, fathom why you stay,” Harry said, all sorts of old insecurities rearing their ugly heads once again thanks to Milverton.

“I’m using you to get a better position.”

“Like what? Planning to replace the queen?”

“Well, it was the only logical choice when the alternative is rather dreadful when said out loud. I mean, admitting that I love you enough to overlook your marriage is...Well...”

“Romantic and foolish?” Harry offered, smiling earnestly for the first time that night.

Smiling in return, given how terrible he was at resisting Harry’s obvious joy, Mycroft brushed his thumb along the man’s cheek before leaning in and kissing him for the first real time since the start of the Milverton issue. Both of them acting as though everything would be alright if they could avoid such a simple, yet damning, gesture, even though the eager way Harry kissed back proved that they had both been remarkably wrong.

Moving away when he felt Harry’s lips part under his own, Mycroft smirked at him. “Quite.”

Resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, Harry stared at the blank television screen, watching their reflections as that look of frustration came over his face once again. “Would you really leave me, if I decided that ending this would be best for all involved?”

“Of course,” Mycroft answered honestly. “I don’t want you sacrificing your career for me. And you have a wife, children.”

“A number of little things to take my mind off you, you mean?”

“More or less,” he said, watching Harry’s face carefully for any sign of resolve as he carded his hand through the man’s hair.

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded and said, “Your brother will fix this.”

“Of course he will,” Mycroft agreed, closing his eyes as he held Harry a bit tighter.

It was easiest to relish their moments together like he used to, pretending that the only impending threat in their lives was when Harry would inevitably return to his wife, rather than Milverton’s information. If he could make himself believe that, he could leave in complete obliviousness to the own look twinge of fear that had taken residence in his own gaze.

* * *

While Mycroft tried to simply let Sherlock work in peace, he couldn’t always claim to be good at it. He tried to occupy himself with everything from mentions of cabinet reshuffles to flirting with the idea of war. Anything to take his mind off Sherlock and his work. But after what the news was deeming a rather disastrous week, he couldn’t avoid the urge to check up on Sherlock any longer.

That was how he found himself in that cafe near to Sherlock’s home with his little brother, sipping a rather bland cup of tea as they went through their usual routine of non-talking. He knew that, to outside observers, it seemed strange, but that was because they didn’t understand that conversations between the Holmes brothers was not unlike a chess match between grand masters. Everything had to be set up and opening moves thoroughly considered before anything could be done.

“Anything?” Mycroft asked, trying not to sound overly concerned that they were already a week into the two week deadline.

Sherlock sipped at his tea, rearing back with a look of disgust almost immediately. Grabbing another packet of sugar, he quickly  “Your paramour seems rather screwed. There’s no dealing with Milverton. Unlike Moriarty, he has no morals.”

“Sherlock...”

“I’m trying, Mycroft, but getting this information isn’t as easy as you’d think. Milverton... He’s—“

Mycroft shook his head, facade of calm quickly fading. “I don’t care about your excuses. If you can’t fix it, I will.”

Staring at him with slightly widened eyes Sherlock leaned back in his seat as he asked, “Does Harry know of that?”

“He told me not to.”

“Ever think there might be reason for that?”

And if he didn’t know how bad the situation was before, the fact that Sherlock was being the voice of reason to his half baked ideas was certainly a clear sign that Harry wasn’t the only one handling the matter poorly.

“I’ve been with Harry for nearly a decade,” he admitted with a tired sigh. “No amount of blackmail is going to ruin that.”

“It wouldn’t really. I mean, yes, Harry would be out of a job, but who would turn away a former equerry? What you’re trying to do is protect his image and marriage, which is idiotic considering the fact that you could easily have him to yourself in the aftermath. Unless you don’t want that.”

“It might not make sense to you, given your inexperience with basic human relationships, but I don’t care that he’s married. I know that Harry would leave her if I asked and I don’t because I don’t need that from him.”

Sherlock scoffed. “You sound like father’s mistress.”

Forcing a smile, Mycroft rose from his seat and looked out toward the street, watching people mill about. The comment wasn’t one he hadn’t expected sooner or later. After all, they had both been witness to the havoc one woman could play on their parents marriage when paired with Sherlock’s need to analyze everyone out loud. But despite how much he had hated the other woman in his father’s life at the time, Mycroft knew that nothing in love was ever as cut and dry and one would expect.

Tapping his finger on the table, he turned back to his brother. “Find a way to fix this or I will.”

“Not the best incentive, given how little I care for Milverton’s life, but I will continue to try.”

Which was all Mycroft wanted to know, given the fact that Harry was so against him murdering the man out right.

* * *

Coming to his front door after leaving his luncheon with Sherlock, Mycroft could tell that something wasn’t right. Gripping his umbrella tighter, he slowly opened the door, entering his own home with caution. Everything was quiet and there was no immediate danger, he realized, considering that the only person there was a singular man and he certainly didn’t seem threatening.

In fact, the man seemed no more threatening than the odd professor with those black framed glasses perched upon his nose. He couldn’t have been much older than his mid thirties and would have seemed almost kindly with that constant smile on his lips, if not for the complete insincerity that shown in those heartless grey eyes.

Turning toward Mycroft, he rose to his feet with a barely concealed excitement. Holding out a hand, he said, “You must be Mr. Holmes. Pleasure to meet you.”

Mycroft shook his hand, careful to keep his eyes on the man who had mysteriously wound up in his home. “How did you get in here, Milverton?”

“So few people are above being bought. Especially when you already know them,” he laughed, casually waving it off as though the idea of buying off government agents and a carefully chosen staff was nothing more than child’s play. Taking his seat once again, he folded his hands in his lap, “Nice home by the way.”

“What are you doing here?” Mycroft asked, taking the seat across from him.

Milverton tilted his head to the side and gave him a look of disappointment.“You were the one to sick your brother on me. Didn’t take much digging to sort out that you were Sherlock’s brother given those first names. I was amused to realize you were the man with dear Harry, however.”

“Don’t call him that,” he ordered without thinking.

“Right, well, I was just here to let you know personally that I’ll let this entire situation go when paid. After all, I don’t want to disgrace him.”

“I can only imagine how hard you’re fighting that urge,” he said, not believing the earnest look on the man’s face.

After all, if he really wanted to avoid creating a scandal, he wouldn’t have been blackmailing Harry in the first place. He would’ve overlooked the entire situation rather than pressuring the man for some sort of payment. But Milverton was every bit the snake that Sherlock made him out to seem and a bold one at that, given the fact that he had had the audacity to actually break into his home after paying off a soon to be former employee for access.

Clenching his fists at his side, Mycroft kept his face perfectly devoid of all anger, matching Milverton’s false sense of sincerity with a fake air of courteousness.

“It was information that had come my way,” Milverton explained with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “You couldn’t expect me to overlook it.”

“Behaviour of this nature tends to get people killed in my circles,” Mycroft pointed out, a polite smile on his face.

Milverton’s eyes widened briefly before he simply chuckled like a nervous schoolgirl.

“Quaint. Death threats about MI-5? Hit men? Honestly, I’ve heard it all before and it’s always petty posturing.” Humour fading from his face, his eyes took on a hardened quality, making his smile seem all the more sinister. Leaning forward, as though he had a secret he wanted to share, he said, “Because as the deadline nears, you and your lover will pay up and will be the better for it. I know your kind and I know you have the money. If not him, then you. You just need to get over your pride.”

“My pride is hardly the issue, Mr. Milverton,” Mycroft spat angrily. “I know your kind and it’s never jut a one off. Now I’ve warned you to back off and forget about any of this, if you don’t—“

“I’ll come up missing. A risk I’m willing to take given the fact that if I do come up missing, all the information I have on a number of very high profile people, including you and yours, leaks out by the next morning. Dead man switch, you see. If I fail to input a certain random code each day, everything leaks. So, when you’re willing to deal, you know where to reach me.”

With that, he rose from his seat and held out a hand toward him. When Mycroft failed to move from where he sat, Milverton just smiled a little brighter before dropping his hand to his side and walking toward the door. Looking back at him one last time, he sighed happily before saying, “And might I just say, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes.”

* * *

Hearing the door open, Mycroft merely downed the rest of his gin and waited for the feeling of Harry’s presence over his shoulder. He had scarcely moved from his position since his impromptu meeting with Milverton except for to get a drink of four. Stripped down to his shirtsleeves, he could practically sense the moment Harry’s concern began to permeate through the air.

“Mycroft, what’s wrong?” Harry asked as he kneeled in front of him, holding out a hand for the empty glass.

Handing it to him reluctantly, Mycroft simply said, “Milverton was here.”

“You didn’t...”                                     

“No. If I do all his illicit information leaks regardless.”

“And Sherlock...”

“Is coming up with very little of help,” he said softly as the full weight of the situation began to settle on him again.

Rising to his feet, Harry made his way over to sofa, sitting where Milverton had been mere hours ago. “So what do we do?”

“I refuse to pay this man, Harry.”

“I can always—“

“I refuse to let you lose your job either,” Mycroft said, putting an end to that thought before it could even be completed.

Running his hand through his hair, Harry chuckled to himself. Mycroft Holmes and petulant were two words he had never expected to pair in his mind before, although they went together rather nicely at the moment. “So you’re just going to what? I mean, if Sherlock can’t help, you have to pick one of those,” he pointed out, hoping that the man would see how childish he was being.

“He’s blackmailing us. He broke into my flat somehow and he deserves to be buried at sea, not paid off to go away.”

“My, I know you’re not used to losing, but sometimes it is the only option.”

“It’s a miserable option,” he sulked as he moved to sit next to Harry.

Holding him, Harry rubbed his arm, that overly earnest parental look on his face. The one that definitely meant that meant he was classifying Mycroft’s behaviour as nothing more than a tantrum and patronizing him because he was a bit drunk.

“You’re stubborn,” he started. “I don’t honestly care how this ends, but you keep trying to find a way around him and you’re wasting time. I just want him gone and if paying him gets me that... If paying him can get us that, get our lives back, why fight it?”

“He’s a subhuman creature that has his people everywhere. He’s like a problematic terrorist cell.”

“He’s one man you’re allowing to ruin our lives.”

“He wants to expose you,” Mycroft said, vaguely remembering that being his reason for seeking out his brother’s help in the first place. Because people weren’t allowed to mess with Harry so long as he could help it, not that he was doing a good job of it.

“I just want to be with you, regardless of the outcome.”

A fact that Mycroft had known from the beginning. If worse came to worse, if the affair was exposed, he knew that he wouldn’t lose Harry in an effort to save face. He’d actually have the man he loved more than he often cared to think of. But Harry would be without his job and family, something Mycroft couldn’t bear, not just for Harry’s sake, but because of how clearly he remembered what it was like to have one’s family fall apart because of someone else. It was the sort of matter that made him feel like ending it would be best for all involved, since Harry should’ve been more dedicated to his wife than some politician.

Still, Milverton had to be dealt with sooner, rather than later, and any hope that Sherlock would manage something grand in the last minute was nonexistent. Thinking back on the rather exurbanite demand made by Milverton, Mycroft grimaced. There was definitely no way he was going to pay the man that much for peace of mind. Smiling to himself, Mycroft let out a soft breath before looking at Harry.

Brushing the ever wayward coma of hair out of his face, Harry stared at him. “So do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Yes,” he said, knowing what his best option in the matter was. “This isn’t how I wanted this to end, though.”

“I know. But there don’t tend to be many exceptional outcomes when backed into a corner.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too and that will never change.”

Nodding agreement, Mycroft patted Harry’s leg as the feeling of being resigned to this fate settled like a weight in the pit of his stomach. In the morning, he would make good on his decision, no matter how much he hated it.


End file.
